


We Could Be Like a Family

by blazichu



Series: Skele-Frisk AU [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Skele-Frisk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:31:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazichu/pseuds/blazichu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: I will not be deleting or updating this story-- I'm in the process of revising it, and will post said revision separately.</p><p>Reborn as a monster, Frisk has a lot to deal with: meeting their friends again, learning to control the magic they've been remade out of, and, until they manage all of that, living in the same space as Sans and Papyrus.</p><p>It's strange and scary, but they're safe, and that's all they've ever wanted. (Skele-Frisk AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fallen Down

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Seven Human Souls, it might be a good idea to go check it out before reading this fic-- it starts off right about where SHS left off and will refer to it as the story progresses.

It took longer to get home than anyone would have expected, not counting the amount of time it took to get moving in the first place. Papyrus had been bound and determined to show Frisk every significant detail of their grave, which included guessing who'd left what in remembrance.

Despite what he'd said earlier, Sans didn't see any reason to rush them; he was happy to trail after and offer bad jokes while Papyrus ushered Frisk around their own burial site. Reality only hit after they reached the dent Undyne had left in the mountain.

Ultimately, this was fantastic news, but just barging in with a skeletal child-- recognizable only by the tatty sweater they were wearing-- was probably not the right approach.

Sans gave the matter literally seconds of thought before dismissing it. Sure, his original intention for the night had been to wallow in guilt and make an already bad day worse, but that plan had gone out the window some time ago. Right now, he was happier than he'd been since reaching the surface, and he didn't want to lose that feeling so soon.

He looped around the marker to the memorial side and rested his arms on top of it, watching Papyrus gesticulate rapidly from token to token. Frisk picked up a soggy cardboard box by one corner and looked utterly unsurprised as it dissolved between their fingers and flopped back to the ground. They stared at their own hand for several seconds before turning their attention to the mess they'd made-- and the mildewing pieces of torn construction paper that had been inside of the box.

Papyrus made a scandalized noise and tugged them away from it, tutting about germs and eying the bar of soap Woshua had left with clear intent. Midway through concocting the perfect hygiene pun, Sans leaned his head against his arms and, moments later, fell asleep.

It was well past nightfall when something roused him again, and it took a second to realize that it was the sound of his name being called. That was nothing new. Every other time he dozed off, that was how Papyrus woke him up, so he was pretty used to it.

When the _way_ his brother was calling registered, he stiffened and pushed away from whatever he'd been sleeping on, only to stumble backwards and fall flat on his tailbone. He stared up into the darkness for a moment, trying to figure out what he'd missed. He remembered the memorial. He remembered Frisk. He had _no_ idea what about the situation would make Papyrus sound like _that_.

He scrambled back upright and caught a flash of red light on the other side of the grave. Obviously it was magic, but he didn't know whose-- and he wasn't going to wait around and find out. Somewhere in the dark, Frisk made a pitiful squeak, audible only for a second before they muffled it, but it told Sans that they were entirely too close to the foreign energy.

Though it wasn't a substantial distance, he still warped the fabric of space to make it shorter, already prepared to lash out if need be.

As the teleportation magic rapidly faded, the red flared up-- stronger than before and bright enough to literally shed light on what was going on. One small bony hand balled up around the edge of Papyrus' scarf and, trembling, Frisk buried their face in it. The magic immediately dimmed, but didn't vanish. As a matter of fact, it was doing a _very_ good job of illuminating the scarf in question.

Sans let his defenses drop-- it was foreign magic, but not a foreign source. Fair enough. As a human child, Frisk hadn't _known_ how to use magic, so this probably shouldn't have been a surprise.

The light emanating through Papyrus' scarf flickered and, finally, went out.

"Huh." He finally said.

Papyrus shot him a look and tightened his grip on Frisk. They hiccupped and red blipped into existence for half a second before dying back down.

"Uh, well, that's normal for younger monsters, isn't it?"

"I don't know! Is it?"

"I-- yeah? Maybe?" He stuffed his hands in his pockets and meandered closer, "Honestly, I have no idea. But, uh, they wouldn't know their magic, right? So we just gotta get 'em used to it. Theoretically."

"What theory? You just said you had no idea!" Despite the petulant nature of his vocabulary, Papyrus did seem to take solace in the explanation. He hooked his jaw over the top of Frisk's head and spoke more gently than Sans had heard in several years. "Did you hear that? Don't worry hu-- Frisk! There's no need to be afraid!"

Frisk took a stuttering breath and curled closer to him, though they did shift to look past the arms wrapped around them and peer at Sans.

Without taking his hands out from his pockets, he shrugged. "You're made'a magic-- you'll get used to it pretty quick. Gotta think the more exposure you get to it, the easier it'll get. That's how monster kids learn anyway."

"We should go home, then!" Papyrus announced; despite the proximity and volume, Frisk didn't flinch at the sudden noise.

Sans sidled up and, conspiratorially, added, "Actually, it's Newer Home. You know how it is. Naming stuff's hard."

Papyrus ignored the comment. "There's plenty of magic there!"

"And when you're ready, we can reintroduce you to everyone." Sans paused and shot the marker a sideways look. "Or when they're ready, I guess. It's comin' up on a year since the barrier broke, so we might wanna be careful about that."

They perked up and, in their visible eye socket, a pinprick of light fluttered. "Toriel?"

He hesitated, remembering how excited she'd been as they'd trailed in everyone's wake that first evening atop Mt. Ebott-- how she'd gone from the usual small talk and back-and-forth to vague plans for the future, helping Frisk settle whatever business had them nervous and potentially creating a home of their own on the surface. It was hard to revisit that without remembering the devastation that followed, too.

With the anniversary of Frisk's death on the horizon line, it would be better to approach her before she had the chance to dwell on it.

"We can probably swing that-- Tori's a busy lady nowadays, but I bet she'll be able to make time for you."

"Possibly _too much_ time." Papyrus said, expression twisted in thought. "But maybe that would cut the insufferable joke onslaughts short."

"Hey, you can't spell 'onslaught' without 'laugh', bro. And you know what those 'joke onslaughts' are good for?"

Papyrus did a nasally impression of Undyne's battle cry, but, otherwise, didn't respond. Frisk patted his humerus sympathetically, without seeming to notice the irony inherent in doing so.

"I knew you'd understand." When this failed to elicit a response, Sans followed it up with, "Wanna go home now?"

He got a one-word response: a petulant "Yes."

"Alright, one shortcut comin' up."

They made it most of the way before Frisk's magic started acting up again and, to avoid any dimensional unpleasantness, Sans ripped out the magical sutures holding his 'shortcut' in place. It wasn't quite home, but the city was better than Mt. Ebott, even if the landing was a little rough.

Further shortcuts were probably not a good idea and, truth be told, Sans didn't really know his way around without a little cheating, which made it a difficult situation.

Papyrus hoisted himself back up, dusted off his battle body, looked around and then back down at the smaller skeletons splayed out over the pavement. Without any hesitation, he slung them over either shoulder and took off at a gallop.

"No need to worry! I have a plan!"

"Uh, you know where you're goin', bro?"

"Of course I do! The Great Papyrus always points due north!"

Frisk craned to look at Sans from around Papyrus' skull; though they weren't in possession of the regular human facial features, their half-lidded eye sockets still managed to look expectant.

Of course, Sans didn't process this until after he'd already drawled, "I guess that makes you the _north_ ster then, huh?"

Papyrus skidded to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk and turned to glare at the back of Sans' skull.

In the end, they wound up riding the north-bound skeleton across half the city until Papyrus recognized where they were. Sans dozed off again before they'd gone three blocks, leaving Frisk to observe the monster-dominated civilization while zooming past the majority of it.

It was a surprisingly smooth ride up until they reached one particular apartment complex and Papyrus started charging up the stairs two at a time. At the first landing, they squirmed enough to get his attention and, from there, did their best to keep the pace trotting after him. Sans didn't even seem to notice how bumpy the ride had become until Papyrus slowed down, and stayed quiet for as long as he could. Or, at least, until the opportunity for a bad pun arose.

"Do not fear, Frisk, we're almost there! The door to floor four is right up there! Stay determined!"

"Yeah, looks like someone's _run a number_ on you, but you got this, right?"

Papyrus stopped cold, one foot on a step above the other, and seized Sans by the hood of his jacket. As he always did, Sans just grinned up at him, though, truthfully, losing the rest of his free ride was something of a disappointment. Perhaps in compromise, Papyrus stuck to a more reasonable pace.

"That might have been a mis- _step_."

For a second, he had no idea what the look Frisk was giving him was supposed to mean. He had a talent for reading expressions, but the sudden change in features was jarring. Not that he had to tell them that-- they were probably well aware.

Then Frisk called to Papyrus' hunched shoulders, "Don't take the bait, just walk away," and there was that mystery solved.

"I _am_!" There was a second of silence as he held the stairwell's door for them, and then, "…that was another pun, wasn't it? Sans! You're corrupting them!"

"Yeah? My kinda job, then. Barely had to do anything."

Down the hall, a door slammed with impressive force. The cracking sound suggested that it had been _too much_ force and that said door hadn't actually survived.

"Ngahhh! I don't have time for this! I'll deal with you when I get back!"

Papyrus' eye sockets lit up and he jogged forward, ready to greet Undyne. Sans, however, tugged Frisk further back and, when he couldn't think of any convincingly bad puns or ways around encountering Undyne, scooped them up and zipped his jacket after them. Wouldn't be the first time she'd think he was trying to smuggle something in.

Frisk grumbled through the fabric, audibly irritated.

"Cool it, kiddo, it's just for a minute. Hold still or she's gonna catch us."

They stopped struggling. With one arm around his middle to support them, Sans sprinted after Papyrus just in time to hear, "-- sure it's gotta be AWESOME, Papyrus, but I _really_ gotta be going. Alphys's streaming the Dragon Maiden Beta finale from _wherever_ and if I miss it tonight, there'll be spoilers _everywhere I look_ tomorrow-- an' I can't ask Al to wait just 'cause I'm a jerk who runs late. But when we train tomorrow, SCREAM it at me, okay? Can't let all that enthusiasm go to waste! See ya!"

She took three running steps, spotted Sans, and stopped abruptly.

"Don't have time for this crap tonight, Sans. Not even gonna ask what you're tryin' to pull." She announced before launching herself forward again.

When she was safely down the stairwell, he unzipped the first four inches of the jacket. "Just gonna throw this out here: probably best you didn't hear that. You didn't hear it, right?"

Frisk shrugged and scrambled to support themselves on his shoulders.

"Works for me." Unceremoniously, Sans undid the rest of the zipper and caught them around the waist before they could fall down. "Yo, Pap, what'd you tell Undyne?"

Though it was hard to tell with the padding, Papyrus' shoulders drooped.

"I know I wasn't supposed to say anything, but Undyne's had such a hard week! I just wanted her to know there was good news!" He looked down to Frisk's level and blinked. "…now that I think about it, though, it might have been difficult to tell her there was good news without explaining what the news was. Hm. This requires further consideration."

"And pasta?"

"And pasta!"

Good mood back in place, Papyrus charged on ahead to ready the kitchen. As he set Frisk back on their feet, Sans made a mental note to ready the trash can too. It wasn't quite a deep thought, but it was still enough to distract him; the next time he spared them a look, they were only just keeping the pace, staring at the passing walls blankly.

There had to be something wrong if they were falling behind _him_.

"What's rattling around in that skull of yours?"

Frisk started violently. While they were watching him, Sans reached over and knocked on their vertical plate.

"Nope, not hollow. I'd say spill your guts, but that joke's a little _bare bones_."

They stared at their hands and flexed their fingers a couple of times.

"Huh. Too soon?" Again, they shrugged. "Adjusting's probably gonna be tough, so let's just get a good day in before then. 'Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow' and all that, right?"

Frisk stared at him as the two of them moved along, continuing to clench and unclench one bony fist. With the other hand, they felt along their upper jaw.

"How do I eat it?"

"Eh, same way anyone else does, I guess: ditch it when Pap's not looking."

"But how do I _try_ to eat it?"

" Honestly, it's magic. Sounds like a copout though, I get that." He tucked his hands away in his pockets and winked at them. "Tell you what, we can put a couple a 'dog buns in the toaster and treat them like breadsticks. Papyrus'd get a kick out of it, and you can experiment with solids before graduating to noodles. They can really stick to your ribs if you aren't careful-- better to get some practice in."

"Sans." Frisk stared at him gravely, hands on either side of their face and, finally, he realized what they were getting at.

They _did_ seem to be lacking in the lower jaw department.

Sans took a moment to consider this new development and, finally, shrugged. "You'll figure something out. It'll be jawesome."

They made a strangled noise and launched themselves at him. Rather than putting the effort into dodging, he allowed the full force of a seven-year-old's skeletal system to ram into him. Out of politeness more than anything, he even flopped backwards when they connected.

In the face of such success, Frisk didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. For several seconds, the pair stared blankly at one another and then, without moving from their newfound perch, Frisk looked away.

"I'm happy." They said, but the way their eye sockets drifted down to the carpet suggested there was more to it. "I-- I didn't think I could…

"I'm really happy, but I'm scared too. Really scared."

Sans propped himself up on one elbow, and, even staring directly at them, found himself reaching up to ruffle their hair before realizing that it wasn't possible. "Yeah, it's… yeah. Don't stress about it too much, eh? We're gonna take care'a you."


	2. Another Medium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frisk takes a spill and Papyrus addresses the problem at hand.

Frisk didn't remember falling asleep the previous night.

To be fair, they barely remembered falling asleep a year ago. At least, Sans said it had nearly been a year, and they weren't inclined to question him on that front.

They certainly didn't remember dying, being dead, or suddenly _not_ being dead, so it was starting to sound like an unfortunate trend. They'd just tuned into reality and, when they saw him, Papyrus had looked so _sad_. Papyrus wasn't supposed to be sad-- it went against everything they'd learned. Until they'd dropped the box of Tem flakes and caught sight of their own hand, Frisk hadn't even noticed that their hair wasn't blowing into their face or that the evening chill hadn't started to creep through their sweater.

The conversation they'd had with Sans in the hallway was just the beginning of it. Every time they made to do something, some logistical problem would arise and then, when they went through the motions anyway, it wasn't an issue. No lower jaw? No need. Papyrus' spaghetti defied the laws of physics, and so did hotdog buns. So did every bit of food that was handed off to them.

How did skeletons eat without internal organs? Good question. As a skeleton, they still had no idea. Their mind had been racing as they'd curled up on the couch beside Papyrus, and they'd been certain that the crisscrossing thoughts would keep them awake all night.

They woke up draped over Sans, still on the couch.

In spite of everything else that clamored at the edges of their mind, they wondered what Papyrus had done to keep busy if he didn't sleep through the night-- and then, inexplicably, whether or not he'd gotten his bedtime story. They had half a mind to just lay their head back down and act like they'd never been awake, but, for better or worse, they were up and running on most cylinders.

The brothers' apartment was quiet, but the sun shining through the blinds suggested that it was late in the morning. From all metaphorical the noise he made about sleeping in, they doubted Papyrus was still in bed. From the literal noise he tended to make, they also doubted he was actually home at the moment.

Frisk gave Sans an experimental pat and, when he failed to respond, carefully picked a way off both him and the couch. Most of the furniture was the same stuff they'd seen back in Snowdin, rearranged to accommodate for a different living space, and, even though they'd emptied it back then, the sofa still jangled when they moved.

They wandered absently for a few minutes, peering into random kitchen crevices and half-hoping they'd find a dog hiding somewhere, but didn't feel like they ran the risk of intruding until their aimless shenanigans took them down the hallway that split off from the living room. As they had before, the signs marking Papyrus' bedroom gave them a pause; while the question still boiled down to 'am I a boy or a girl', it was confusing on a different level this time.

Either way, they weren't Papyrus, which meant they weren't allowed inside.

They spared Sans' door a cursory glance, but didn't bother testing the doorknob. Instead, their attention was drawn to a third room, it's door cracked open and leading into relative darkness. It felt like they might have been snooping until they realized that it was just a bathroom, furnished with products that suggested Papyrus was the only one who bothered with it.

Something flashed on the edge of their vision and they looked up to find a mirror above the sink, reflecting a small amount of light that came in through the frosted window. Frisk dropped their gaze back to their hands and played with one of their pointer finger's joints before making up their mind.

Though not as high as its predecessor, the sink was entirely too tall for them to reach, and the mirror was even further up. They moved onto the toilet with clear intent.

For a moment, they wondered what Papyrus had thought of it when the brothers had moved in. Then they realized were getting distracted and that, maybe the spaghetti trap hadn't been as ridiculous as they'd first thought. Dismissing the tangent, they climbed on top of the toilet and then used their new position to progress to the sink, determination burning at the edges of their being with comforting familiarity.

The rim of the sink was hardly an ideal perch, but they struck a precarious balance as they craned upwards towards the mirror. They just wanted to get a better idea how much had changed-- that they didn't even recognize their own reflection was a little disturbing, and a wave of lightheadedness hit them at the same time the front door rebounded against a wall. Blindly, they reached for anything they could anchor themselves to, but their grasping hand only found one of Papyrus' MTT products, and, with a yelp, they tumbled backwards off of the counter.

In the living room, Papyrus squawked at Sans. Whatever response he got didn't seem to be the right one, because he came thundering down the hallway within the next five seconds and stopped short at the bathroom door.

"Ah, that's unfortunate. I was hoping you might explain the bathroom's intended functions to me, but I understand if it's a mystery even to humans." He flipped the light switch, and, belatedly, Frisk realized that they'd missed a step in the process. Flat on their back, they reflexively covered their eyes to shield them from the sudden shift in brightness and encountered an unexpected… wetness.

Papyrus tutted at them fondly and helped them back to their feet. "Clearly I'll have to educate you in the proper use of cosmetics-- cute juice is the last thing you need. Don't feel bad, though! I've recently realized that I don't need it either, so, really, you just helped me clean off the counter!"

On the opposite side of the bathroom-- where he couldn't possibly have gotten by normal means-- Sans stifled a laugh. "You're not s'posed to dunk yourself, kid. Saved me the trouble, though."

Involuntarily, Frisk flinched, but managed to cover it by wiping at the liquid running down their face.

In lieu of another joke, Sans cast a critical eye socket over them and, still fighting back his amusement, said, "That's gonna be one cute sweater when that stuff dries."

Automatically, Papyrus' gaze dropped down to the sweater in question. He managed to keep himself from physically recoiling, but only just. "It could certainly use the help-- it looks like something that horrible dog dragged in."

"Oh come on, dog residue is, like, ten time worse."

This time, Papyrus couldn't restrain his full-body shudder. For Frisk's benefit, he added, "Last time, he dragged in a jar of rancid peanut butter-- _oily peanut butter!_ It was disgusting!"

"And self-replicating." Sans put in. "Not a quality that goes well with rotting human foods. Just FYI."

Frisk nodded solemnly and, out of habit, patted at their shorts' pockets to make sure nothing had materialized. It earned them an answering nod of approval from Papyrus and a snort from Sans, who was already gone when they turned to look at him.

They hadn't noticed the magic coiling in their chest until the tension broke; it startled them, and they backpedalled into Papyrus' shin. Frisk just sort of went along with it as he took them by the hand and led them down the hallway.

This was a strange change of pace, and they weren't entirely sure how to deal with it just yet-- like most everything else they were working with. Magic was cool and all, but they'd only dealt with it as an outsider. What they'd felt of it so far was wild and unpredictable-- and the fact that it was from somewhere soul-deep was unnerving.

"Feel free to look around!" Papyrus announced, cutting into their thoughts. Frisk blinked and zoned back in. After a second, they realized that they recognized most of the furnishings, and were comfortable in assuming that this was Papyrus' new room. "I'm going to find something you can wear instead of that ratty thing."

And, with that, disappeared into the closet.

Frisk poked around for a minute, but it was mostly more of the same. They did notice that he'd gotten a novelty pirate flag to hang up beside the one Undyne found, and a few skeleton-themed knick-knacks joined the action figures-- set up on a high shelf rather than a table, this time. Frisk snickered when they saw that each of the baubles had home-made clothing on, but stopped abruptly and, tentatively, peeked down the collar of their sweater.

It stuck, and they had to loosen it from the inside to get anywhere with it, by which point they decided that they didn't actually want the answer yet. Instead, they wandered over to Papyrus' entirely-too-high computer chair and tried to climb up onto it.

They made it on the third jump, and were very pleased with themselves when they plopped down.

It hadn't been their intention to snoop, but the computer was open to Undernet, and a photo immediately caught their attention: Alphys and Undyne posing together at an anime convention. Frisk wasn't sure how, but they felt themselves smiling. They felt a little bit like crying, too.

While Papyrus rummaged around, they were happy to sit and study the picture: Alphys and Undyne themselves, their ridiculously nerdy (but charming) clothes, the way the surrounding humans gave them a wide berth. When that detail registered, they felt their metaphorical heart sink.

A scandalized noise sounded from the closet and, when Papyrus failed to emerge from it as well, Frisk hopped down from the chair and wandered over.

"I forgot I kept this!" He finally said, excitedly brandishing a piece of red, white and yellow striped cloth in their general direction. "When I was a baby bones, this was my favorite dress! I outgrew it, of course, and Sans was too small for this one, but--"

Frisk cocked their head, waiting for whatever had interrupted his train of thought.

Before the silence could stretch out much further, Papyrus scooped them up and spun them in a circle, eye sockets metaphorically alight. "You're a baby bones!"

Hanging limp from his hands, they stared at him, unsure how to proceed.

Papyrus didn't seem bothered by the non-response, and bumped their foreheads together before depositing them safely on his bed and making for the door. He seemed to think better of it as his boot crossed the threshold. Bones rattling in excitement, he said, "You can use it if you like-- look at the stripes! What self-respecting kid could say no to that? I'm just going to-- uh…"

He stopped short, at a loss for what to say, and-- still visibly vibrating-- shut the door behind him. Frisk heard him half-whisper 'baby bones' to himself a few times, nearly inaudible under the same antsy footsteps he'd made while spinning them around. After a second-- and a "Nyee hee hee"-- he seemed to collect himself and bolted back down the hallway, shouting Sans' name.

Absently, Frisk smoothed out the dress's skirt and set it aside on the bed, then moved on to un-stick their rapidly drying sweater from their collarbone. They would almost say it itched, but, without skin, the sensation wasn't quite the same; the difference was something about the way the fabric clung to their bones, they thought-- like static, but damp. Plenty uncomfortable, no matter how they looked at it.

That was the most recent problem though, wasn't it? Seeing their reflection for the first time had been one tiny step, and that effort had failed almost as soon as it began. Comparatively, taking their sweater off and seeing the extent of the damage first-hand was a leap worthy of Undyne.

It was scary. Everything about what they'd 'woken up' to was scary. They wouldn't say that they wished it wasn't happening, because they knew the alternatives were worse, but everything was so extreme and happened so fast. Frisk didn't want time to think about it. They just wanted those feelings to go away.

They tugged at their collar again, loosening it before it could dry, and eyed the dress.

They just wouldn't look, they decided. For everything that was so drastically different, they still hadn't noticed straightaway; all their limbs were in the right places, so they could dress themselves blind.

As Frisk tugged the sweater over their skull, a chill ran up their spine, but they ignored it and groped around for the change of clothes. Somewhat unsurprisingly, the dress was too big. The hem fell past their shorts and the sleeves, though intended to show off (the lack of) skin, gathered just above their elbows.

It was better than they could have hoped for.

They gave an experimental twirl and giggled as the skirt fanned out around them-- they'd never been one for dresses, but could see the appeal. It was swishy and made their movements feel dramatic. They decided they liked it.

Moreover, they could _definitely_ see where Papyrus-- at any age-- would enjoy flouncing about in one.

As if on cue, there was a light knock on the door. "Am I allowed in?"

Still a little giddy, they ran over and asked, "Are you Papyrus?"

"A valid question." He made a couple of muffled hums and haws. "I do appear to be Papyrus."

Frisk opened the door a fraction and poked their head out, looking around exaggeratedly.

"Don't worry, there are no japes to be had. Yet." Papyrus huffed and shifted his weight, posture screaming irritation. "I would say that Sans went back to bed, but he just fell asleep on the couch again."

They let the door creak open and stepped out to give him a consoling pat. Immediately, Papyrus' entire demeanor brightened.

"See? The cute juice was entirely superfluous. We should go show you off to my lazy lump of a brother."

Frisk didn't fight being picked up; they were beginning to get used to it and, truth be told, being up high was a nice change of pace. When the two of them reached the couch, Papyrus held them out towards Sans, and they gave his cheekbone a couple of pokes.

Sans made a sleepy, undignified sound, and cracked an eye socket open to look at them.

"Guess I don't have to ask what's up, 'cause that's definitely Frisk." He shifted to lean against the arm rest and gave the pair of them the usual lazy smile. "No offense, kid, but I think that dress was more _suited_ to Pap back in the day."

" _No_." Papyrus insisted, setting Frisk free to roam about the living room. As exciting as that prospect was, they stayed put. "No puns."

"Ouch. Now you're just _pun_ ishing me."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Papyrus gestured to the spot beside him.

"…yep. Still Frisk. I don't get it, bro-- why am I starin' at the kid?"

"They have very pleasant cheekbones, and the lack of a lower jaw makes their skull look very cute and round."

"Hadn't really looked, but yeah. Guess so."

"They're a _baby bones_ , Sans! Inside _and_ outside!"

"Huh. Guess so." He said again.

This time, when Papyrus half-yelled, "Sans!" there was a distinct whiny edge to it.

"Yeah?"

Though he was clearly trying to be subtle, Papyrus' voice naturally resonated over the whopping six inch distance between the two of them and Frisk. "I want to keep them."

Frisk, despite their general lack of movement up to this point, went _very_ still. Knowing they were wanted wasn't a foreign feeling, but was something that they'd been missing for a long time. Hearing someone say it point-blank was something they hadn't known until Toriel. They were dimly aware of Sans' eyes on them as they sidled back up to Papyrus, but didn't know what, if anything, to say.

"Don't think that's gonna be a problem." He kept an eye out as they reached over and wrapped an arm around Papyrus' leg, and his smile took a more genuine-- gentle, even-- turn. "Might have to fight Tori for 'em, though."

Papyrus hesitated and, deep in thought, rested a hand against his chin. "A battle of culinary ability against the queen. This may be my most challenging… challenge yet. I'll have to prepare something incredibly special. Come, h--Frisk! To the kitchen!"

"Ok. Have fun." Sans made to lay back down and stopped mid-way, too lazy to settle properly when he knew he was just going to be roused again in the next few seconds.

"Sans! You can't just sleep on the couch all day!"

He shrugged, got up and started down the hallway at a leisurely pace.

"That doesn't mean go to your room and sleep!"

"Hey, you get me falling asleep or you get me on the couch. You can't have it _sofa_ ways, bro."

Before Papyrus could properly respond, Sans-- and the impish grin stretched across his skull-- disappeared, presumably to his room. Papyrus stared daggers at where he'd last stood and, without looking away, reached for Frisk's hand. They let go of his femur to accept it.

Finally, as the sibling-induced irritation faded, he looked down.

"We're keeping you."


	3. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pasta, puns and pick-up lines. It's almost like nothing strange is going on.

Around fifteen minutes into pasta prep, Sans showed back up and crammed a navy blue sweatshirt over Frisk's head.

They stopped what they were doing to consider the situation. It took Papyrus a few more seconds to notice the interruption, at which point he dropped the bag of noodles he'd been handling into the pot resting on the stovetop. The water inside slopped over the edge, hissing when it met the burner, but it was tepid and that was the only damage it caused.

His previous endeavor forgotten, Papyrus tugged the hood of the shirt over Frisk's head. They blinked at him, murmured a thank you, and attempted to solve the rest of the problem themselves.

Absolved of freeing the child, he turned a glare to Sans-- half accusing, half legitimately confused.

"Now it's a win-win situation. Any sauce's gonna get on the shirt-- keeps the dress clean and helps me get a head start on tomato stains."

"..how so?"

"I've got an image to keep. Who's gonna take me seriously with a clean jacket?" He held out an arm to display one of the discolored splotches decorating the sleeve. "Help a verte- _bruh_ out, will ya?"

Frisk didn't answer, too busy wiggling around trying to figure out where their arms were. Papyrus took it upon himself to help by chasing Sans out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon that had been laying on the counter.

He came back thirty seconds later, looking pleased with himself, and went on as though nothing had happened.

By that point, Frisk had managed to squirm their way into the shirt with all appendages where they belonged, though their fingertips barely poked out of the sleeves. They bunched them up, but they fell right back down since Frisk's arms lacked the substance needed to keep them in place.

Papyrus stopped frowning at the bag of noodles in the pot long enough to spare them a glance and, without a second thought, handed them his makeshift special attack so he could roll the sleeves up for them.

Automatically, they took the spoon.

The handle was shaped like a bone.

They shouldn't have been surprised.

After a minute, he stood back up and announced, "I hope you're ready, because we're about to try something groundbreaking! I've been saving this pasta for something special-- impressing the queen sounds perfect!"

In one fluid movement, Papyrus rescued the plastic bag from the rapidly heating water, shook it off, and presented it to Frisk. "These are called fiori-- they're little flowers! I, ah, don't know how you're supposed to use them, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. Especially using Undyne's methods."

Something in their expression must have tipped him off, because the next thing he said was, "Fear not, Frisk-- the great Papyrus is entirely fireproof."

For half a second, they wondered how he knew that. It didn't take long for the thought to come full-circle and land at Undyne's charred doorstep.

They also wondered if that fire had ever gone out. Somehow, they doubted it.

At least the ingredients laid out suggested that they were making glorified spaghetti. While Frisk was still inclined to think of it as a threat, Sans had been right: a year had done wonders for Papyrus' cooking. When they'd choked on the pasta the previous night, it had been because they hadn't known what they were doing and not solely because of the taste.

As long as nobody planned on deviating from the recipe, things were probably going to be okay.

Probably.

Just to be safe, they kept a close eye socket on the burner. And the knives. And Papyrus.

Not for the first time, Frisk realized they had some issues to work out once the current problems were put to rest.

They tuned back in to find that Papyrus was doing something on the counter and boosted themselves up on their toes to see. Sauce, they assumed. Since step one involved removing the stem, it seemed like he was on the right track.

While he was busy with that, they used the spoon to reach for an onion and roll it within grasping range. They made quick work of the papery outer layer and then stopped, unsure how much needed to be removed.

They glanced up to find Papyrus doing much the same, looking down at them. "Do you need help?"

Frisk relented and handed it over. Before they knew what was happening, Papyrus had exchanged the onion for the cutting board and, though they didn't know why, they held onto it for him.

"I have an idea." He assured them, opening one of the lower drawers up.

It was full of bones. They didn't get the chance to appreciate that, though, since Papyrus guided the cutting board over the top of it, making them a little workspace.

He beamed at them and handed a tomato over. "Show it what for!"

Very seriously, they flipped the spoon over, brandishing the joint-patterned end at the innocent produce.

There was a short bark of "Nyeh heh heh!" from above them, followed by, "You've done it!"

While Papyrus worked with the other ingredients, Frisk methodically began squishing tomato after tomato with the business end of the spoon. It was strangely soothing, and they found that, even if the end result wasn't going to be the greatest, they were enjoying cooking with Papyrus. It was certainly less intense than Undyne's lesson had been.

They'd just handed him a bowl full of crushed tomato pieces when the comfortable atmosphere changed.

"That tomato's gotta be holy, 'cause you sure beat the hell out of it." There was a beat of silence as Sans noticed the secondary workstation and, inexorably, his eye sockets landed on Frisk.

"Whoops."

The pair of them stared at him, but that seemed to be all he had to say on the matter, since he shuffled away and turned his attention to a phone that Frisk hadn't noticed until that point.

"Nah, you're good. I just got a _chili_ reception on that one."

Papyrus groaned and went back to work, but Frisk set the spoon down on their makeshift table, curiosity piqued.

"That is _not_ what he's supposed to be doing." Papyrus groused, dumping the chopped onion and a mound of unrecognizable herbs in with Frisk's mangled vegetation. He reached blindly for something else and found one of the few remaining unscathed tomatoes."But whenever they start talking, it's all _puns_."

"I'll _raisin_ that bet" Sans said, as if on cue. Frankly, Frisk couldn't be sure he hadn't chosen that moment just to get on his brother's nerves. "What? No. I can't top that. Guess I'll just have to accommo _date_."

"Sans! Stop your distasteful banter with the queen and help us!"

Sans angled the phone so the receiver pressed against his jacket's lining. "Dude, I'm not the one flirting with danger here."

There was a short silence as Papyrus took this in.

Almost hesitantly, he looked down. Frisk was already staring directly at him, intent shining in their eye sockets, and, out of some primal self-preservation technique, he took a step backwards.

"If you were a vegetable you'd be a cutecumber! "

Papyrus whirled around, tore through the apartment and out the door, tomato juice seeping from where the fruit was still clutched in one hand. Even after the door slammed shut behind him, the tail end of his " _NYOOOOOOOO_ " was still clearly audible.

Sans snorted and mock-called out, "See ya later, Danger!"

When he made to check on Frisk again, they were midway between the kitchen and living room, eyes turned on him. He stared back, silently challenging them to do their worst.

Frisk ran over, jumped onto the couch and conspiratorially whispered, "Are you a banana? Because I find you ap _peel_ ing."

With a short bark of laughter, he rested a hand on their head, fingertips tapping against their skull. "Going for the low-hanging fruit, huh? You're gonna need more than those _corny_ jokes if you're gonna _beet_ me. "

"Hello? Sans? Are you there?"

Simultaneously, the both of them went still.

After a second, Sans picked the receiver back up and reassured Toriel that he was still there, but not before Frisk leaned in close enough to add, "Don't artichoke."

Sans twitched-- no doubt from the effort it took him to bite back a retaliatory pun-- and pushed them away. When they took a breath to add some more, he covered their face with his free hand. They giggled.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Fri-- Fridge just had a dog in it again. You know how much Pap _digs_ that." He gave them a warning look as they made an attempt to get closer, spurred on by the sudden lie. "It's last minute, but do you think we could swing by tomorrow? Papyrus was trying to cook something… for you, I guess."

"Oh, that is… quite sweet of him." With all the activity on the couch, Toriel's voice was faint, but the note of panic came through in perfect clarity."There is no need for any of that, though-- you do not need an excuse to come visit me. Would you like to come by tomorrow evening? I can prepare dinner to, ah, accompany your brother's dish."

Sans made a raspy sound that might have been the ghost of a laugh. "Yeah, 'accompany's' one word for it. Sounds like Pap's thinking more along the lines of 'compete' though. It's, uh. It's something.

"I gotta ask, how're you holdin' up these days? Doin' alright?"

Whatever Toriel said blended in too well with the white noise for Frisk to hear, so they had to go by Sans' reaction. It was little more than a slight twist on the usual smile, and they found it lacking.

"Well, that's why I was s'posed to call-- y'know, before the jokes. We're gonna bring something else over, so uh, be prepared, okay?"

At 'something else' his irises flicked back over to Frisk. They sat balanced on their knees, keeping a respectful distance as they tried to act like they weren't eavesdropping.

"I do hope you are not trying to u _surprise_ your former queen."

"Oh come on, you'd regen-see anything I tried to pull a mile away."

Frisk felt themselves wilt, realizing that it was just going to be puns from there on out, and got back up. The stove was unmanned and they'd made a vow to keep an eye on it, so they reasoned that their attention would be put to better use there.

Of course, they couldn't exactly reach it. They eyed the drawers, but weren't eager to reenact the climbing stunt from earlier-- especially not when the first thing they'd come into contact with was a pot of boiling water.

"Yep. See you, Tori." Sans strode up next to them and pocketed the phone. After a second he asked, "So. You wanna do Pap a favor and save his pasta?"

Automatically, Frisk nodded-- though, after the fact, they realized they didn't exactly know what to do with the pot. It didn't really matter, because Sans' definition of 'saving Papyrus' pasta' consisted entirely of shoving the pot onto one of the inactive burners and clicking the heat off.

They bit back a sigh and frowned at his back, but, not long thereafter, were distracted by the phone's edge sticking out of his pocket; the lie-turned-pun still bothered them.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know what life with ears is like, but us skeletons can still hear-- you've _gotta_ know how long we were talking just now."

Frisk made a frustrated noise in what would have been the back of their throat, and Sans leaned against the edge of the counter to look down at them.

"This isn't the sort of thing you just drop on someone over the phone; Tori's got a good sense of humor, but what's going on here would just come across like a bad joke." He softly rapped his knuckles against their head. "Besides, I warned her we're gonna be bringing something weird over. I think you qualify."

They quieted, considering that, and allowed themselves to be herded back into the living room.

"Don't wait up on my bro-- after that scream, Undyne's gotta be _dogging_ him. It'll be awhile before he _can_ ine make a clean getaway." Though he was already right next to the couch, Sans simply plopped down where he stood, resting the back of his skull against a cushion. "You know human TV, right? It's been ages and I still can't find anything good-- you give it a shot."

In the end, Frisk failed to pinpoint any quality programming-- though they did accidentally hike the volume up to a frightening level before realizing what had happened-- and they wound up watching a Spanish soap opera for the next hour. Sans fell asleep halfway through the first episode and didn't even wake up when Papyrus finally returned.

The pair of them _did_ finish work on the contest-worthy pasta, so that was one mission accomplished.

Total, that was several tiny goals completed with a big challenge looming in the near future.

Frisk was nervous about it, but excited at the same time-- and, when night fell, sleep found them more easily than they would have guessed.


	4. Unnecessary Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bone brigade takes a field trip to a little house in the big city.

Since it was rude to take a shortcut into someone's house-- not to mention ill-advised after last time-- they took the bus to cover most of the distance between the apartment and Toriel's house.

Though clearly unimpressed with the state of said bus, Papyrus was all too happy to tell Frisk about the places they passed. They didn't even mind being crowded against him, since the proximity made them feel safe among so many foreign humans. That was bad enough, but the staring made it even worse, and they spent most of the ride joined to him at the hipbone.

Sans slouched and acted like he was asleep, but the lack of muted snoring was the first thing to give him away, and the wide berth the humans slowly gave them was the second. Frisk knew first-hand that, until he brought the whoopee cushion out, Sans could be pretty intimidating. They felt a little bad for the humans.

Even with the thinning soles of their boots to cushion the landing, the pavement sent a shock through their bones as they hopped off of the bus's platform and, as soon as they were on the same level again, Papyrus took their hand. It made Frisk feel a little silly-- especially after traversing the Underground three times on their own-- but they held onto him without complaint.

The scuffling of slippers on concrete told them Sans wasn't far behind. At first.

Frisk's focus was elsewhere: on the fact that, without flesh, their boots weren't pinching their toes anymore, on the hardness of the ground as they walked, on the way the dress's skirt billowed in the breeze and how it felt on their bones. It distracted from how naked they felt without their sweater, in spite of the borrowed clothes.

It was Papyrus-- long since accustomed to stopping and making sure his brother was both conscious and on the right track-- who thought to double-check.

Sans had been stopped by a woman from the bus and was casting repeated, nervous looks past her; he forced the usual grin and almost imperceptibly shook his head when Papyrus looked back.

The sudden stop jarred Frisk back into reality soon enough to hear, "--raised them very well."

"I… yeah. They're a great kid. We need to get going-- but, uh, thanks?"

He bid a sudden retreat-- the fastest Frisk had ever seen him move-- and purposefully avoided eye-contact once he'd caught up to them. The glow of his irises against his cheekbones almost made him seem flushed, which certainly added to the 'I'm very uncomfortable right now' look. For Sans' sake, they kept going, but Frisk risked peeking back towards the bus stop.

The grey-haired lady smiled at them and waved and, automatically, they waved back with their free hand.

When he noticed, Sans took the hand in question, urging them to turn all the way back around. He still looked flustered, but, with distance, it was beginning to fade.

"Don't encourage her."

Papyrus let out a small, scandalized gasp. " _Don't_ encourage her? That's a terrible thing to say. Sans! What's gotten into you?"

The scolding seemed to help, because Sans let go of Frisk and shoved both hands in his pockets. "I guess you could say that _she_ got under my metaphorical skin. But, you know. _Dermis_ the breaks."

Papyrus sulked for the rest of the walk, but it certainly improved morale on Sans' part.

They stopped at a relatively small piece of property; it didn't have a yard so much as it did a vegetable garden that had gone out of control, and the little white fence didn't do the best job of containing the plants.

It was late enough in the season that the vegetables' leaves spilled out into the walkway, and Papyrus stopped to marvel at the abundance of fruit ripening on the vines.

"You guys have a whole lotta plants to choose from up here." Sans said by way of explanation. "She got a little carried away."

"I helped!" Papyrus announced, and finally released Frisk's hand to pat the tupperware containing last night's masterpiece. "This is where the tomatoes came from-- I'm sure that will help the queen appreciate our pasta. Flower shaped noodles _and_ tomatoes from right here in her garden; it's perfect!"

Frisk grinned up at him, remembered the lack of several key features, and started worrying that it didn’t come across, but Papyrus seemed to have gotten the message. He half-leapt the next few paces up to Toriel's porch, leaving them and Sans to follow in his wake, and gave the door several solid knocks.

Despite themselves, Frisk felt their fingers digging into the cuffs of their borrowed hoodie.

A flash of yellow caught their attention and they took a step to the entryway's side, towards a window box full of golden flowers. They were still inspecting the plants-- half expecting to find one staring back at them-- when the door creaked open.

Toriel didn't open it all the way at first-- just enough to peer out and let her voice travel as she asked, "Who is there?"

Papyrus let out a gusty sigh, but didn't seem surprised by the toll gate. Reluctantly, he turned to Sans.

That was all the provocation it took.

"Orange."

"Orange who?"

"Orange you gonna let us in?"

A small, delighted gasp sounded through the gap between the door and its frame and Toriel obliged, giggling as she let it fall open.

Before he took a step inside, Papyrus presented her with the plastic container of pasta. While he was distracted with that-- and Toriel was busy trying to politely decline-- Sans hooked a finger under Frisk's hood and tugged them back to the center of the porch. "What'cha doin' over there? Kumquat over here."

He shrugged off the dirty look it earned him and deliberately changed the topic. "What? Orange you glad I didn't say banana?"

They mumbled something to the effect of "That joke's older than me" and followed him inside, the both of them trailing in Papyrus-- and, in turn, Toriel's-- wake. Though neither monster was readily available as Frisk shut the door behind themselves, they could hear Papyrus explaining the pasta's significance from a room away.

"Ah, I had not realized that you put so much thought into this. That is incredibly sweet of you, Papyrus."

"Even better--" Papyrus started, before dashing back out into the entryway and positioning himself behind Frisk. Toriel followed at a more sedate pace, happy to watch his antics. "Look!"

Frisk looked up at him.

"No, not you!"

When they righted themselves again, Toriel was watching them curiously.

"Hello, small one!" She looked up at the brothers for an explanation, surprised but not confused, "Shall I assume they are a relative of yours?"

Frisk didn't even need to see to know what face Sans was making when he said, "In a _relative_ sense."

Papyrus grumbled, but, under Toriel's roof, couldn't make a solid case against the questionable humor. His only audible complaint was, "Is it even a pun if you're using the same word?"

Without realizing what they were doing, Frisk shrunk into their hoodie.

As much as they'd been looking forward to this, looking up at Toriel, they remembered that it hadn't just been a few days for her. She'd had time to pick out a whole garden full of vegetables, and those plants had grown to near-maturity-- again, Sans' estimate of 'almost a year' made them hesitate.

It would have been so easy to let everything else fall away and start dwelling on the finer details, but there was one big thing that they were still caught up on. They didn't know who the other human souls had come from, but Toriel did. She'd lost them one after another, on top of her own children.

They took half a step backwards and ran into Papyrus' leg.

"Are you alright?" He asked from above, voice tinged with uncertainty.

Frisk turned their head and nodded tersely.

"Ah, it is fine." Toriel said, she had stooped over to speak to them on the same level, but straightened back up and smoothed the wrinkles in her dress, "I understand-- if they do not wish to speak with me right now, they do not have to."

Out of their peripheral vision, they saw her smile in their direction. "But do not feel that you cannot change your mind. I promise, I do not bite!"

Sans stepped forward and quietly said something to Toriel, casting a glance over his shoulder as he went. His usual grin twisted and he gave them a wan smile along with a thumbs-up he hid behind his back from Toriel.

Toriel's eyes softened when they landed back on Frisk. "Perhaps it would be best if we retired to the living room. I will make sure everything has been tidied up properly-- feel free to follow as you please."

And, in a gust of skirts and cinnamon, she was gone.

"Gonna be honest here: that didn't look like 'alright' to me."

Frisk shook their head and insisted, "S'okay."

Sans sighed and rocked back on his heels, making no move to hide the fact that he was looking to Papyrus for advice. "You know you don't gotta say anything today if you don't want to, right? It's not like we can't come back another day."

They gave a half-hearted nod and stuffed their hands into the hoodie's pocket.

A large, gloved hand came to rest on their far shoulder. "Do you need a platonic hug?"

They paused and nodded again with renewed effort, turning in anticipation. Papyrus didn't disappoint and dropped to their level to envelop them in a bony embrace.

"Don't act like you didn't _want_ to hug 'em."

Papyrus shushed at Sans-- more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary, meaning that Sans had probably been on the right track-- and quickly followed it up with, "No! I'm… teaching them about consent. That's what you do with baby bones. You teach them. And hug them. And dig up their bones when dogs bury them."

Against his shoulder, Frisk cocked their head.

There was a very noticeable silence coming from behind them.

Finally, Sans snorted. "Well look who's got the _dirt_ on me."

"I… didn't mean to say that."

"I know-- it's cool, bro. If you don't teach them not to play rope in some dog's game of tug-of-war, who will?"

Frisk shifted to eye him curiously; the physical contact had done wonders helping them feel better, but this was intriguing.

"Nope, I'm not taking any questions right now-- this is time for serious conversation. What'cha thinking about today?"

They sighed into Papyrus' shoulder and took a step back; their voice shook as they said "It's okay. I'm not gonna chicken out again."

"You don't have to say that. If you aren't ready, that's fine too." Papyrus let go in favor of straightening their collar. Like the earlier hand-holding, it made them feel small, but in a strange, good way. They let it go without saying anything.

"It's okay." They repeated instead. "I wanna help her feel better right away."

"That wasn't the question." Papyrus drew back to watch them; when he looked up at Sans, his frown deepened. "But if that's how you feel…"

Frisk nodded-- first slowly, then at a more normal pace. "I've only had a few days to miss her."

"But you miss her a lot?"

"…Yeah."

With an expression that suggested he'd been on the receiving end of a pun rather than just taking part in the conversation, Papyrus stood back up. "Then it's my duty to help!"

Frisk went quiet, studying him, and then took his hand. Though a shadow of doubt remained, he brightened up considerably.

When they got to the living room, Toriel automatically rose from her chair to play hostess again, and Frisk met her halfway. They stepped forward and didn't let themselves stop until they were near enough to reach out and touch the fabric of her tunic.

Patiently, Toriel knelt on their level again.

"I'm sorry." Frisk whispered to the ground.

Toriel's brow furrowed in confusion.

They inched closer and tried again. "I'm sorry. I-- I…"

Though she didn't move an inch, Toriel's eyes flicked up to Papyrus and Sans, then back down; if anything, she seemed more puzzled than before. One large hand twitched like she wanted to hold it out to them, but thought better of it.

"I was just really tired. I didn't… I -- didn't know…"

A memory resurfaced-- from back in the Ruins, just before they'd talked Toriel down.

_"Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come. They leave. They die._

_"You are just like the others."_

"I… am afraid you have lost me, little one. Can you tell me what you are talking about? I wish to understand."

Finally, they looked up and faced her properly; only then did they realize how blurry their vision had gotten. Were they crying?

"I didn't mean to leave again." As close as they were, the sweetness of butterscotch cut through the distinctive cinnamon scent. "I really wanted to stay with you, and-- and now I feel bad, 'cause I still want to, but I wanna stay with Papyrus and Sans, too, and I don't know--" They bit down on the words, but it had already had an effect.

A muffled clap sounded from behind them-- the sound of gloves hitting one another-- followed by a delighted intake of breath and an accompanying " _That's_ what got you rattled?"

"It was very serious! I told them we were going to keep them, but they have to want it too! Didn't I tell you that I was teaching them about consent?"

Papyrus physically turned to look at them at the same time that Sans' irises flicked in their direction.

"Ah. Um. Go ahead."

"We're just the peanut gallery. Ignore us."

"That is not always as easy as one might expect." Toriel said wryly, "I am beginning to feel that you know something I do not."

"Well, everyone knows different stuff. Why don't you stop beating around the bush and tell the nice goat, kid?" There was a pause, and then a stifled snicker. "Heh, 'goats', _kid_."

"Sans!"

Frisk turned back around to gauge Toriel's reaction. Her expression suggested she'd heard that one before, but the smile was all they needed to know that she still got a kick out of the unplanned joke. Or maybe just the brothers' reactions to it.

She'd been happy for the past year, at least-- maybe not always, but she'd had plenty to keep herself going. At least they couldn’t make things any worse for her.

They took several of Toriel's fingers in their bony hands and tilted their head as they looked up at her. "My-- my name was Francisca, but I always liked Frisk better."


	5. Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Toriel has some thinking to do.

Toriel didn't say anything right away.

Her eyes dropped to her hands and her brow furrowed in thought. Frisk almost drew away again, but stopped short of actually doing it.

They did their best to sit still and stay patient, even as anxiety ate away at their nerves.

"I do not understand, and I am inclined to believe that you do not, either, small one. Where did you come from? You are clearly not-" Abruptly, she looked over their head and frowned at something beyond them. "I do not like this game."

"And _that's_ why I didn't say anything on the phone." Sans said under his breath.

That answered one question, at least.

Someone took a couple of steps nearer and, since it wasn't the sound of slippers on wood flooring, Frisk assumed it was Papyrus. They half-turned to see what he was doing, but he just hovered behind them awkwardly, hands held up like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

Reluctantly, they looked back to Toriel, who had yet to end her staring contest with Sans. Some part of their mind took the opportunity to point out that, since he only had eye sockets to work against, it would be a hard battle to win.

Since she still hadn't broken eye contact, it was clear who Toriel was talking to when she said, "I still wish to understand. Please explain the point you are trying to make."

"Not like it's an exciting story or anything. Took a trip up to the monument, Papyrus started crying-"

"Sans!"

"-and this little bag of bones showed up. It was more obvious back there- they had the sweater and everything."

Finally, Toriel's gaze dropped back to their level. One hand moved from beneath theirs to rest on top of it. "I do hate to point out the obvious, but Frisk was a human."

"Emphasis on _was_." There was a pause and he stifled a snort. "I'm gonna let you in on a little skeleton secret here: you ever wonder what's under a human's skin?"

"I am aware." She said flatly, one thumb rubbing absently over Frisk's knuckles. They peeked back at Papyrus to get his take on the situation.

All he did was hold up a finger and make shushing noises.

Apparently he already knew that his theory of evolution had been a little off, but he still looked happy. They felt themselves smile and mimicked the gesture with their free hand, minus the sound effects.

Watching the exchange, something changed in the way Toriel looked at them.

"A soul cannot just- regardless of the species it-" She snapped her jaw shut with an audible click and her face twisted pensively. "How do you propose this might happen?"

There was a noticeable silence behind them- even if it didn't actually happen, Frisk could picture the brothers looking to each other and coming up empty-handed- and, after several seconds, Sans asked, "You dunno, do you, kid?"

Mutely, they shook their head.

"Didn't think so. Notoriously empty-headed, us skeletons."

"Speak for yourself!"

"Right. My bad, bro." As a consolatory measure, he jabbed a thumb towards himself and then gestured half-heartedly towards Frisk. It still didn't seem to appease Papyrus, so he abandoned the attempt and shrugged instead. "How 'bout we just slap a big ol' 'determination' on this whole thing and call it good for now?"

A bit of fur caught in between one of Frisk's joints and Toriel flexed her hand to free it. This time, her faraway look wasn't aimed at anyone as she repeated, "I do not like this."

Frisk shrunk back in anticipation, but then Toriel spoke again, and they stopped before they could pull away entirely.

"Asgore had the scientists researching the nature of souls when I left- if I had only stayed a bit longer, perhaps…" She shook her head to dispel whatever thoughts were weighing on her mind and closed her eyes, one hand tightening over theirs. "But this is not for you to worry about, child. Might you give us the tale from your perspective?"

"I don't- I kinda… saw Papyrus was upset and wanted to help him feel better. And everyone was so excited, and- and my eyes started feeling hot, but I knew I wasn't gonna start crying, 'nSanssaidsomethingaboutmagicbut-" They hiccupped and stopped before they could muddy their words any further, continuing only after a couple of deep breaths, "I wanted to see you 'cause it sounded like you were sad too… but if you're okay, I can go. I don't wanna make you feel worse."

If they had been able, Frisk knew they would have been chewing on their lip. They didn't wantto hear Toriel say so, but they were beginning to realize that their presence might not have the intended effect., and as much as it hurt, they understood.

There was a quiet, offended noise from a foot behind them.

Toriel ignored it and let their hand go in favor of lacing her fingers together in her lap. "If I may, one more question: do you have a preference between cinnamon and butterscotch?"

Puzzled, they drew their hands back and gave a shallow shrug.

"Butterscotch was good in your pie," They murmured, "But I still don't know what it tastes like by itself. I guess no?"

"I see. I still do not understand, but suppose I will have to accept that." For a second, she just stared down at them, watching, but then she sighed and self-consciously ran a hand over one of her ears. "None of my children have ever returned to me; I only dared to hope when Frisk… when you… Ahem. What I am trying to say- that I am not _actually_ saying- is that this story is difficult to believe, but I would very much like to believe it. I am dangerously close to doing so already; not because of that… abridged tale, but because it is difficult not to see them in your actions."

She hesitated and laughed quietly to herself, folding her hands in her lap. "Which, I suppose, would make sense. But, if it is not asking too much, perhaps we could ask the former Dr. Alphys' opinion on the matter? Not this evening- there is so much we need to get you caught up on- but…" Toriel trailed off, her eyes lighting up in realization. In one fluid motion, she unclasped her hands and drew Frisk into her arms. "When it is completed, you can attend my school. I would bet you did not know that I am going to become a teacher!"

Frisk reached up, standing on their toes to hug her back, and listened to all of the promises of 'cans' and 'coulds' and 'wills' that she whispered to them. They weren't entirely sure how long they stayed like that, or when they wound up half in her lap, but the specifics didn't matter too much.

One arm wrapped securely around them from behind and they leaned into the contact, head tilted upwards to watch her sideways. It didn't work particularly well. All they could really see from their perspective was fur and the collar of her purple tunic. Without realizing what they were doing, they reached over, grabbed a fistful of the fabric and just held onto it.

Toriel's free hand came to rest gently on theirs, gingerly coaxing the material free of their grasp. They gripped onto her hand instead, and felt her chest rumble with low laughter. She lowered her head to rest atop their skull and just stayed like that for a moment.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Toriel stifled a wet-sounding sniffle and released them to wipe a sleeve over her face; when she rose to her feet, she still held their hand in hers.

"Ah, but I suppose I am getting ahead of myself; it is not exactly the time for such grand plans. There is something I feel that we must discuss with Papyrus- shall we see where he has gotten off to?"

For the first time in however long, Frisk noticed that Papyrus and Sans weren't there anymore. On its heels was the realization that they had probably stayed as long as they had for moral support, while Toriel decided what to make of the situation. It was a nice gesture, but they weren't entirely sure what to make of it. For the time being, they busied themselves keeping up with Toriel instead of dwelling on it.

To very little surprise, Papyrus was in the kitchen, opening random cupboards, studying their contents, and acting vaguely surprised at what he found. Somehow, he managed to look like he wasn't snooping, even though that was exactly what he was doing.

At the kitchen's threshold, Toriel cleared her throat to announce their presence, hiding a smile behind the fist politely covering her mouth. Immediately, Papyrus shoved the cupboard closed- not with a slam so much as a resounding clack- and turned far enough to peek at them over his shoulder.

Whatever he saw seemed to put him at ease, because he abandoned the 'skeleton caught with a hand in the cookie jar' shtick and shifted to face them properly. Frisk watched wordlessly as his eye sockets landed on the hand clasping Toriel's and, though he was still smiling, it wasn't quite right.

Regardless, he offered a cheerful- though not quite serious- salute. "A shining victory for monsterkind! But would you expect less from such a stand-out member of the Royal Guard?"

"Of course I would not." Toriel said indulgently, padding further into the room with only a whisper of sound. Frisk trailed alongside her, worn boots clomping with every step on the tile. "But I was hoping I might have a word?"

"You can have more than one! Good thing, too, because that was already six."

"That is very generous of you. Frisk, you are listening as well, correct?"

They cocked their head and looked up, which seemed to satisfy her.

"I cannot express how grateful I am that you have done this for me- clearly at cost to yourself- and I would like nothing more than to accept such a kind gesture. It is difficult for me to admit that, right now, I am not in a position to afford Frisk the attention a child deserves. I have obligations to our fellow monsters while we integrate with humans and the time I do not spend on such matters must go into preparing the school. It is my responsibility to acknowledge these… rather glaring faults." She broke eye contact with Papyrus to check in with Frisk, expression soft. "Perhaps it is presumptuous of me to say as much, but I was under the impression that the both of you might prefer to keep your current arrangements as they are."

In spite of Toriel's explanation, Frisk still had to fight off an instinctive pang of rejection. It was silly, they thought, that it had been easier to accept that they might not be wanted here than to know that they were and face the same course of action.

… the more they thought, though, the more they realized they were okay with it. Hadn't they been worrying that they would let somebody down no matter who they stayed with? It wasn't a matter of never seeing Toriel again; it was a half-hour trip across the city, and, provided there weren't any canine interlopers, cell phones were a thing. In hindsight, it was even a little funny- they'd been the ones to hesitate when Toriel first asked if they wanted to live with her.

When they turned to see what Papyrus had to say, he was already watching them.

They stared at one another for several seconds, trying to discern what the other was thinking; it was a task made much easier when Papyrus' smile finally reached his eye sockets.

"I humbly accept the incredibly important task you've trusted me with." He announced, puffing his chest out. Indoors, there wasn't a breeze to send his scarf fluttering dramatically behind him, but he still got the point across. "This may, in fact, be my first official order. How exhilarating!"

While he was distracted, Frisk looked to Toriel. "Is…?"

As Papyrus had before, she pressed a finger to her lips and gave a conspiratorial wink for good measure. The question died before they could even voice it. When they turned back to where Papyrus had been posturing, the scarf was, in fact, billowing behind him- but only because he was in the process of dashing out of the room, hollering at Sans.

Frisk made to trot after him, heedless of the hand still grasping at Toriel's, but she dutifully kept the pace so as not to slow them down. They were so focused on what was going on ahead of them that they didn't witness as her last reservations crumbled.


End file.
